


Artisans

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Magran's Fire [2]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, fire godlike priest of Magran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Outside, the city is in flames. Perfect for someone like her to become invisible. An offering to Magran; it was not intended that way, but the goddess will take it for herself and make it hers, just as she does with everything.Perhaps she should do so as well. There is nothing wrong in borrowing someone else’s tools when they are available. And who knows, maybe she will be able to bribe the owner.





	Artisans

**Author's Note:**

> (prompt 30: jailbreak)

“It’s for your own safety,” Lady Webb says as they drag her into a cell under the Ducal Palace. The warning seems amusing, coming out of the mouth of a frail, old woman. It would be unwise not to treat it seriously for the very same reason.

She is not a cipher, but Magran’s fire reveals enough: Lady Webb will not yield, nor melt in the flames. Therefore, she does not fight; there would be no point, not against the whole army of ciphers and a bunch of city guards and Crucible knights. Not know. Fire is not patient, but even ashes smoulder for a time; she can wait. Someone will come to find her.

The look Lady Webb gives her indicates that they both know it. But there are ways to remove all obstacles – or step aside and pass them by. If not her friends, she has enemies who might want to accomplish that. This old woman is not one of them, though; what Lady Webb wants is the safety of her city. But it has grown complacent, and it might be time for a trial. A pity she will not be the one to administer that. Still, it is comforting to think that the abomination called animancy might fall even without her testimony.

She wonders which of her companions might come. Durance will, certainly; he calls her a whore, as he does with Magran, and yet obeys them both. What a curiously crafted tool, that priest. Edér will probably volunteer to come, too – but he is not suited for a more clandestine approach this rescue will demand. Perhaps the wizard, then. She thinks of the elf and smiles; oh, yes, she hopes Durance will bring the wizard. If the priest is a tool, then Aloth is a pretty trinket. She will enjoy playing with him. A pity, though, that trinkets break so much more easily than tools. But they are such a joy to watch.

* * *

 

The wizard might be as smart as he would like people to believe, she thinks as he enters the dungeon, escorted by a guard. No one would lie their way past Dunryd Row ciphers... but who would not believe a sad whiny elfling that he only wishes to see how his friend fares, that he worries about her, that he wants to make sure she is all right, at least? And any violent thoughts would get blamed on Iselmyr. Brilliant, in its simplicity.

It makes her smile. She likes her trinkets bejewelled.

“Are you all right?” he asks, truly concerned.

“I will be,” she replies quietly, but loudly enough for the guards to hear. No reason to make them suspicious so soon.

Aloth does not answer, does not even nod. He just moves his hand slightly; a torn page and a scroll marked with a tiny drawing of shackles falls out of the long sleeve right into his hand.

She is certain it was Durance’s idea; only he has enough experience with ciphers to know how safe being able to see into people’s minds makes them feel. Only he would know how easy it is to miss something that is right before someone’s eyes; just as he did – he simply has not realised it yet. In time, he will; she will see to that; that is her purpose. But not now.

“I will be well.” She closes her eyes and opens them slowly, concentrating; her hair sizzles as the flames rise. “In a moment.”

The wizard holds the scroll so that she can see, while he starts reading from the torn page of a grimoire. He could never part with any of those they came across; and he finally found some use for that, she thinks as they mutter under their breaths. They both release the spells at the same time; the elf jumps out of her way and turns to face the guards, and in a heartbeat, the dungeon is filled with brilliant, dazzling lights.

She puts her hands on the bars and the metal turns red, yellow and then white as it heats up, and in a moment it is trickling through her fingers. The wizard draws a wand hidden on his chest, beneath the robe, just as she kicks the weakened bars down.

“The wall,” she orders. Not paying more attention to him, she spins towards the guards, who have just regained enough grasp on reality to notice they cannot move. “It is not wise,” she says pleasantly, but the words come out like the hiss of fire, “to turn against the chosen of your city’s patron.” Yes, let the fools think they have angered their goddess.

And then she throws the sparks of molten iron along with a spell; they form a tall, shimmering figure of Magran. Right then, there is a loud thud somewhere up and off to the right – near the Palace side door – and then she feels it – the flames, blooming like flowers in the night. Durance. For a breath or two, she is caught up in the perfect harmony connecting an artisanw and her tool; it is glorious.

A part of the wall crumbles before Aloth is done with his spell, and his surprised sideways glance tells her it is not his doing. Ah, so the trials come earlier than expected. She can use that, just as Magran will use that.

She rushes through the opening, pulling the elf behind her, not bothering to leave a seal on the ground or stop the guards from chasing them. Things will take care of themselves, this night.

Outside, the city is in flames. Perfect for someone like her to become invisible. An offering to Magran; it was not intended that way, but the goddess will take it for herself and make it hers, just as she does with everything.

Perhaps she should do so as well. There is nothing wrong in borrowing someone else’s tools when they are available. And who knows, maybe she will be able to bribe the owner.

The guard is already – conveniently – dead, but that means someone... A cloaked figure darts from the shadows; she instinctively stops it with a spell. Aloth hits the would-be assassin with a summoned magic staff, and as the aumaua reels, she snatches his dagger and draws the blade across his neck in a lightning-quick move. Then, as he lays shaking on the ground, she wipes the steel on a stylised symbol of a key embroidered on his robe.

The elf pales and takes a step back. “It’s... good that you know how to use it. I’m out of spells.”

“You did good, lad.” She turns to him and puts a hand on his shoulder; he twitches as he notices a few drops of blood on her palm, but does not move away. “You did good.” And then she plunges the dagger between his shoulder blades. “Not good enough,” she adds a while later, looking down at the shocked expression frozen on his face.

* * *

 

She is waiting at a small distance from Aedelwan Bridge. Durance is north, at their usual meeting point near the old bridge ruins, but she will go there later. It is not him she is waiting for, anyway.

There is little she can do to find her target, but she did all she could so that he would find her. For now, she calmly watches the burning city, admiring the beauty of the cleansing flames.

He can almost hide even from Magran’s fire; she notices only flickers, like a weak candle in a draughty room, but only sees him clearly when he approaches her, casually stepping out of the river of kith fleeing the city and disappearing between the trees where she is hiding.

“I see you decided to spare me the trouble of looking for you,” Thaos says, almost amiably.

“And spared myself the trouble of finding you,” she replies calmly.

“Curious.” He tilts his head a little, like a cat or a wurm. Or a drake. “You do believe Magran speaks to you?”

“Unusual for a priest, I know,” she remarks dryly. “I’ve heard you believe the same when it comes to Woedica.”

“Ah.” A brief, meaningless smile follows, as the meaning of her words sinks in. “You want an alliance?”

“For a time.” She shrugs, smiling. “We don’t have to be friends to see that our goals can be... aligned. Take Defiance Bay. You set it on fire for Woedica. But it is burning down as an offering to Magran.”

“A very... Magranite thing to say.”

“I’ve told you she speaks to me.” She looks into his eyes boldly. “Well, is it such a strange thought? Especially considering I’ve already done you a favour.”

“And what is that? Killing your poor friend, who’s never given me any information about you?”

“Doesn’t it prove what a failure of an agent he was?” she throws back without missing a beat.

He considers it for a while. “Truth, from a certain point of view.”

“I want the animancy wiped off the face of Eora just as you do. Won’t we accomplish it more quickly if we work together?”

“And what about later?”

“Later?” she asks, deliberately drawing the word out, her hair crackling merrily. “Later it will only make things more interesting, won’t it?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I cannot undo your Awakening, if that is what you want.”

“Maybe not.” She narrows her eyes, but sees nothing under her eyelids; Woedica can shield him from Magran’s flames. “Maybe you can. I believe answering my questions will have a similar effect. That’s what I want. Answers.”

“And in return?” He looks into her eyes, past the flames, right into the molten core of her soul.

She hides nothing; only honesty can convince him. But they both know honesty can be a trick as much as anything else.

“And in return, I will help you destroy what remains of animancy.”

He smiles. “While being close enough to kill me?”

“Not for a while yet. And then... let’s see whether our goddesses favour us as much as we believe.”

Something shifts in his smile, and his eyes darken. “I hope you _know_ that, Watcher. For your sake.”

“Why?” She arches an eyebrow. “Your answers have so little to do with belief?”

“On the contrary, Watcher. Consider this your... trial of fire. And I am certain both Woedica and Magran will watch it with great interest.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
> This author replies to comments.



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